


A Stranger's Hand

by GuiltyRed



Category: Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Hand Job, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuiltyRed/pseuds/GuiltyRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buckaroo takes in a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stranger's Hand

Buckaroo Banzai paused and backed up the few steps that would put him at the doorway to the showers. He leaned around the doorframe, trying to identify the odd sound that had caught his attention. Steam and the scent of soap told him that someone had just finished using the facility, though gave no clue as to whether they had lingered.

Straining to hear, Banzai frowned as a rough gasp reached his ears. Was one of his men in trouble? Ever since that trouble with the 8th dimension he’d been rather wary for their safety. “Hello?” he called softly, stepping into the room. “Who’s there?”

Silence, then a low chuckle. “Just me, boss.”

Banzai recognized the voice instantly as Perfect Tommy’s, though it sounded a little strained. “Everything all right?”

“You’re so worried, why don’t you come in and see for yourself?”

Banzai followed the voice to the corner shower, the one with the bench set into the wall and the augmented heat settings that allowed it to double as a sauna. Seated on the bench was Perfect Tommy.

A very naked and damp Perfect Tommy.

Banzai swallowed and debated the wisdom of remaining in his proximity before parsing the fact that the blond was also quite casually stroking himself, at which point the internal debate became rather moot. “I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Tommy said, beckoning with his free hand. “I don’t mind the company.”

If Buckaroo had been able to look away, he would have; instead, he found himself staring as if mesmerized by the slow, langorous motion of Perfect Tommy’s perfect hand gliding ever so gracefully along his hard and perfect shaft. “Do you, ah, have company often?” Banzai asked in an uncharacteristically rough voice.

“No,” Perfect Tommy replied with a smile. “You’re a special case, boss.” When Banzai glanced upward at his words, Tommy caught his gaze and held it. “You didn’t walk away.”

“The others walked away?”

Tommy gave a perfectly impish grin and said, “_Reno_ walked. New Jersey _ran_.”

“I see.” Banzai found himself settling awkwardly on the bench, though he wasn’t quite sure when he’d decided to do so. He rubbed himself through his jeans, also not quite sure when he’d gotten so damn hard.

“Want some help with that?” Perfect Tommy asked, licking his lips.

“I said I didn’t mean to intrude,” Banzai replied, unbuttoning his fly. “You just do what you’re doing, I’ll deal with this.”

Perfect Tommy leaned back against the wall and adjusted his grip. His eyelids drooped to half-mast as he resumed his leisurely self-pleasuring.

Banzai took himself in hand and squeezed as he watched Perfect Tommy slowly jacking off. It surprised him how perfectly erotic the situation was; then he realized, this _was_ Perfect Tommy: of _course_ it was perfect.

“You’re staring,” Tommy whispered.

“You invited me.”

Perfect Tommy grinned and stroked faster.

Buckaroo tilted his head as if to better appreciate the view, but this was more from puzzlement than aesthetic necessity. “I thought you were right-handed?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Perfect Tommy panted, his left hand flying over his straining cock. “If you do this with your off-hand, it’s like letting someone else get you off.”

“No kidding?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy moaned. His thighs quivered with the intensity of pleasure as he struggled to delay the inevitable. “It’s the best!”

Banzai tried switching hands, but it took too much concentration and right now he wanted results. He stroked himself faster, matching Tommy’s frantic pace, hoping to catch him at the finish line.

Then two ideas collided in his head. One was the realization that he wanted to make Perfect Tommy lose control; the other was quite possibly the means to do so. “Hey,” he called softly.

“Unh-huh?” Tommy murmured.

“You said it’s like someone else getting you off – who are you fantasizing about?”

With a low cry, Perfect Tommy shot off; the initial spurt landed on Banzai’s faded blues. Eyes tight shut and head thrown back, he kept stroking, drawing the moment out longer than any man had a right to. Sweat drops trickled down his sculpted chest, glistened in the hair around his navel, shook loose and fell to the bench as he panted for breath.

Watching him come sent Banzai over the edge; his spunk mingled with Tommy’s on the denim. He fought to keep his eyes open so as not to miss a moment of his victory, though all he wanted to do was close them and lose himself to the pleasure. He reminded himself that this scene would provide enough late-night relief to be totally worth it in the future, even if he had to sacrifice a little of the edge right now to have it.

As the two men began to relax in their individual afterglows, Perfect Tommy stretched like a cat and smiled wickedly at his comrade. “So. Why did you watch?”

“Why?” Banzai echoed. He thought about it for a couple of seconds, asking himself the question until he found his answer. “Because you’re perfect.”


End file.
